Home Sweet Holmes
by Amalia Kensington
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. "Sherlock hadn't originally intended to call her at all, but his resources were limited and he was still a bit angry at Mycroft." One shot. Sherlock & Irene. Hints of Sherlock/Molly.


**Home Sweet Holmes**

Her smile was the same as it had ever been, despite the other changes to her appearance. She seemed almost predatory and extremely out of place as she sat in Molly's yellow stuffed chair. He imagined he must have looked just as out of place on the light green couch in the cozy (cramped) sitting room.

He hadn't meant to have her here, but it had only been two months since his "death" and it was still too soon to risk too much public exposure. Molly's flat was the safest place for the moment. The pathologist was out doing the shopping and wasn't due back for another good hour, so there wasn't a risk of exposing her to The Woman. Sherlock hadn't originally intended to call her at all, but his resources were limited and he was still a bit angry at Mycroft.

Moriarty's network was vast and complicated, but he's managed to piece together which were the trigger points to bring most of it, or at least his immediate concerns, down. But he was operating on just theories at the moment. He needed data, solid information than he couldn't possibly get on his own without giving up the rouse of his death entirely.

He loathed to admit it, but he needed her. However, it didn't mean he trusted her. Not by a long shot.

"I can get you what you want," she was saying, her voice smooth and rich, "But it will cost you. Considerably."

"No." The reply was simple and she raised an eyebrow. All smiles were gone now.

"'No'?"

"No. If anything, you owe me your life and this is a small favor in comparison. Additionally, being one of just two people who are aware of my continued existence, puts you in a rather unique position, the value of which I'm sure has not escaped you. So, no, you will be getting nothing further from me." His tone was matter of fact and as biting as possible even when conceding that by necessity, she now had been entrusted with one of his most valued secrets.

She smiled at this (acquiescence and acceptance. Good girl) and leaned forward in her seat, her fingers brushing over his knee (predatory again).

"Nothing?" she asked. She was out to prove him wrong.

He opened his mouth to reply when the sound of the front door opening froze them both.

"Can't catch a break, can I?" Irene said quietly as Molly's voice in the hallway had Sherlock on his feet immediately.

Sherlock in two strides reached the doorway leading into the sitting room just as Molly appeared there, hands full of shopping bags. Whatever she'd been saying died on her lips as she caught sight of the woman in her sitting room. He caught the panic that seemed to rise in her eyes and quickly did his best to appease her without revealing the details of the situation.

"Molly, you're back so soon. Sure you didn't forget something?" he asked, his eyes quickly scanning her person. She shouldn't be here just now. "Best get those into the kitchen, then." He placed his hand on her back and pushed her towards the next room and out of sight as quickly as possible.

"Sorry, who's this?" Molly asked, bewildered and a bit harder to push about than he'd hoped for.

"Isn't he just terrible?" Irene had stood up and was standing quite close to them now. "I'm so happy to meet you, Ms Hooper. I'm Irene Adler."

Sherlock saw the recognition trigger on Molly's face and let out a sigh of impatience.

"Adler? As in..." Molly turned to look at Sherlock. "The one you identified from...not her face?"

Irene raised an eyebrow and held back a laugh at that.

"But she's dead," Molly went on. "I did the autopsy myself..."

"Well as you can see, she's not, so kitchen, Molly. If you please," Sherlock replied, pushing her along again.

"Right," Molly said, still confused, and disappeared into the next room with all her bags.

"Isn't she precious?" Irene said, her words practically purred. Sherlock didn't like the look on her face: the devious delight of a leopard catching sight of its prey.

"I believe that will be all, Ms. Adler," Sherlock made his dismissal abundantly clear.

"Ooh, sorry," Molly poked her head out of the kitchen. "I forgot to ask: tea?"

"No," Sherlock snapped just as Irene replied "Just milk, please."

Molly laughed awkwardly. "Right, be just a tick." She disappeared again.

Irene smiled sweetly at Sherlock's scowl as she turned to sit on the couch this time. He wanted to pick her up and deposit her unceremoniously out on the street and slam the door. The temptation was great as she continued to smile. As always, this was a game and she thought she was winning. Sherlock stepped over to the window, clasping his hands behind his back, and took a few calming breaths.

"Here you are," Molly's voice chirped out in the small space, making him cringe. The reflection in the glass showed him how she was handing Irene the cup and saucer, one of her finer things. She was trying to impress. "Sorry it's not terribly posh..."

"It's lovely, thank you," Irene replied, her voice like honey, sticky and sweet as she set her trap. "Please sit by me. Sherlock and I were just talking about how we're to form the Dearly Departed Club. He didn't think you should mind if we met here once a week."

Sherlock clenched his jaw as Molly giggled on cue. He had to give her credit. The Woman knew how to put people at ease immediately. This was not going as he'd planned.

"Well, I suppose I did technically confirm both your deaths on my table," Molly was saying. "Seems fitting."

Irene laughed in reply, and Sherlock saw her inch closer to Molly.

"Maybe we should compare our y-scars?" Irene said, teasing, beckoning. "You do that all day long?"

"Day in, day out," Molly said with a shrug and a giggle. "Nice and quiet. Well, you know, when people stay dead." She realized her mistake. "Oh no, I-I don't mean that you should have stayed dead..."

Irene placed a hand on Molly's knee and continued to smile. "I should hope that we're the exceptions to coming back from your table." Something else seemed to catch her attention. "Wouldn't think to call you a pathologist, though. Look at your hands."

Irene put down her tea and picked up one of Molly's hands, "They're so small..." Her fingers ghosted over the back of Molly's hand, drawing circles over the knuckles lightly.

"Oh...well," Molly sighed out quietly, caught. "Thank you, I think."

Enough was enough.

"Sugar!"

Sherlock whirled around from his place by the window to face the scene before him, both women startled out of their moment with his outburst.

"What?" Molly asked.

"I forgot to tell you, there was no sugar left this morning," Sherlock said, walking over to the them, snatching Molly's hand from Irene's and using it to stand her up. "I take sugar in my coffee. You'll have to go and get some."

Molly frowned at him. "What, it's gone? All of it?" Her frowned deepened, Irene forgotten. "I just got back from shopping! Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Didn't want coffee earlier, I want coffee now," Sherlock replied, pouting a bit as he placed his hands on Molly's shoulders and turned her around and pushed her towards the hallway, ignoring her sputtered protests.

"Are you sure there isn't-"

"Yes. Sugar. Now. Go," he instructed, leading her towards the door and helping her roughly with her coat.

"Sherlock, you can't just do things like this, it's not fair," Molly was protesting, but had gathered her bag and keys he noted with satisfaction.

"You really are lovely for putting up with me," Sherlock said, his most charming smile in place as he ushered her out the door, shutting it to her protests.

"Impossible man," he heard her mutter from the other side, but smiled to himself as he heard her retreating steps. Now, to dispose of the other one.

Irene was running a perfectly manicured finger around the rim of her tea cup when he walked back into the room, seemingly lost in thought. He watched as something seemed to dawn on her and he pretended he wasn't uneasy when her eyes focused on him again, her sudden enlightenment unclear to him (still nearly impossible to read, but he was getting better at it).

"Tsk, tsk. You're getting sloppy," she remarked, sipping the last of her tea before placing it on the table again.

"Pardon?" he asked, his voice monotone and indifferent.

She stood up, smoothing out her dress before sauntering over to him, invading his personal space. he stood his ground, not willing to let her believe for a minute that she was intimidating him.

"Sentiment, remember?" she said, touching her fingers lightly to his wrist. "I seem to recall you saying something it being a mark of the losing side."

"It's not a game," he replied quickly.

Something not unlike sadness seemed to pass over her face. "Make sure she knows that." She reached up and lightly kissed his cheek before walking towards the door. "And make sure that she's the _only_ one that knows it, Mister Holmes."


End file.
